Page 66 of Fat Betrayed Mate
"And Maisie?" Fiona's voice trembles.
His face hardens. "The mutt is too far gone. You saw what's happening to her—the animal already taking over. Some bloodlines are too corrupt to salvage."
My restraints burn as I lunge forward involuntarily, stopped short by the silver chains. "Touch her, and I'll tear your throat out."
Wright regards me with clinical interest.
"Your instincts. Fascinating." He stands, straightening his cuffs. "Unfortunately, Mr. Ennes, you won't be alive to witness either her culling or Fiona's rehabilitation. The broadcast requires a demonstration of the shifter threat—and your subsequent neutralization."
"You're going to murder us on camera?" Fiona asks, horror dawning on her face.
"Not you, sweetheart. I think you can still be fixed. Don’t take for granted that kindness." Wright checks his watch. "You have about thirty minutes to say your goodbyes. I'd make them count."
He ascends the stairs without looking back, the door locking with an ominous click behind him.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The cellar feels suddenly airless, the weight of Wright's plans crashing down on us.
"The pack will come for us," I say finally, though I'm not sure I believe it. "Nic knows we went after Maisie."
"Not in time." Fiona stares at the floor, her voice hollow. "You heard him. Thirty minutes."
I strain against my restraints again, ignoring the burn of silver against my skin. "There has to be a way out of here."
"Thomas." Her voice stops me. When I look over, her eyes are filled with tears. "I need to tell you something. About Maisie."
My heart lurches against my ribs. "What about her?"
"If we don't make it out of here—" her voice catches, "—if something happens to me, you need to know."
"Nothing's going to happen to you," I insist, but she shakes her head.
"Please. Just listen."
There's something in her voice I've never heard before—a desperation beyond our current danger, a secret she can no longer bear to carry.
"Maisie isn't four years old," she says finally, the words coming out in a rush. "She's five. Almost six."
I blink, trying to understand why this matters now, why—
And then it hits me. The math.
The timing.
"Five," I repeat, my voice strangely distant to my own ears. "Born when?"
Fiona meets my eyes directly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "March 12th. Six years ago. Eight and a half months after you left."
The world tilts beneath me.
"She's mine." The words emerge as barely more than a whisper.
Fiona nods, a small, broken movement. "I found out I was pregnant weeks after you disappeared. But you’d—you’d cut contact. And I couldn't—I didn’t—”
"Fiona—" My throat closes around her name.
"I was so scared." Her words spill out now, years of pent-up truth breaking free, as tears well in her green eyes. "Pregnant and alone, and my father watching my every move. When my father found the test, he was so angry. Said I'd ruined myself, letting an animal impregnate me. That's when I ran."
My mind races to catch up with this revelation, images flashing before me—Maisie's eyes, the same amber as mine. The way she tilts her head when thinking, just like I do. Her premature shifting, explained by her true age and her bloodline. My bloodline.
